


The Manor of Infinite Forms

by JackMules



Category: Dark Heresy (Roleplaying Game), Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Calixis sector, Gen, Horror, Inquisition, Science Fiction, Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 07:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20467286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackMules/pseuds/JackMules
Summary: A scholar decides to steal a proscribed text and is drawn into the secret machinations of dangerous heretics.





	The Manor of Infinite Forms

A gentle breeze swept through the campus, rustling the leaves of the tall trees that stood equal in height to the academy buildings they nestled between. The warm, dry wind blew straight off the desert that confined the small city of Khuldr into a narrow crescent of hability against the shore of Lake Khul. The red dwarf sun was a few minutes from setting, its oblique angle through the thick atmosphere accentuating its spectrum further, illuminating the clouds with a palette of crimson, magenta and carmine. To Meryx Arylièn’s non-native eyes, it felt devilish and sinister.  
Gusts of air gently tangled locks of her long black hair as she crouched upon a precarious cornice five stories up on the outside of a habitation building on the outskirts of the Khuldr Academy. She shivered, but not from cold. She was hesitating. The last part of the climb was not the most difficult section, but it was exposed. Not only that, she wasn’t sure whether she was ready for what was to come next.  
The Academy was one of the few institutions in the Calixis sector sanctioned for the study of xenoarcheology. Heavily scrutinised by Imperial censors, xenoarcheology was the general term for the study of non-human history and culture, so named because it carried with it the heavy implication that the alien species being studied were long dead. This was not necessarily the case, but it allowed its scholars to attract less adverse attention from the populace and from Imperial institutions than they otherwise would. Academies like this one provided the means for researchers to learn and collaborate without censors acting as intermediaries. It provided great advantage for those permitted to attend, but it came at the cost of fierce, sometimes venomous competition.  
Three months ago, as part of her first major piece of work after joining the Academy as a fellow, Meryx had presented a conjecture about apparent cross-cultural influences present in multiple pre-crusade human civilisations in the Hazeroth subsector, arguing that the multiple similarities between the cultures could not have happened by chance, but must indicate some contact by radio communication or direct contact by spaceflight. The reaction from her peers had been positive, until several senior members of the faculty had vehemently attacked the idea, excoriating her for a lack of evidence.  
She had taken it badly. She retreated into the comfort of old books and quiet libraries. She found quiet corners where the air was so tranquil that the thin wisp of smoke from her lho-stick would rise in a single column from the ashtray up to the darkness above the high bookcases. There she spent most days and many nights, poring over copies of ancient texts while attempting to bat away the buzzing thoughts that pricked her with visions of giving lectures to empty rooms or leaving the academy in disgrace.  
Earlier that day she had been reading in the deep stacks, a labyrinth of shelves containing the oldest and most fragile documents the academy possessed, when she had overheard a conversation between two of the Academy’s most reclusive researchers, Masters Thale and Molytho.  
They were members of the Academy’s faculty. Senior members, in fact, although rarely seen outside seminars and caucuses. Although neither had a particularly outstanding record of work, both having dwindled in their productivity in recent years, but in certain circles they were highly respected.  
Meryx had heard the occasional strange rumour involving either one or the other of them during her time in Khul. Thale was said to take walks around the perimeter walls at all hours of the night. Molytho, although he attended the mandatory monthly academy dinners, never ate the sumptuous food presented to him. Meryx had heard someone say that no-one had ever seen him eat anything.  
Thale was a lean, wizened old man, who exuded the dry smell of yellowed paper. He had been sitting at a desk poring over stacks of notes when Molytho arrived. Molytho was somewhat younger but even less healthy-seeming, being portly, pallid and prone to bouts of copious sweating. Khuldr’s climate did not suit him and he went everywhere wearing a persecuted expression.  
Thale looked up as Molytho sat down opposite him, but said nothing. Meryx stood out of sight, peering through the gap between shelves.  
Molytho cleared his throat. “Ahem, Master Thale. Good day.” Thale remained regarding Molytho levelly as he continued. “I come with an offer of truce.”  
Thale’s chair creaked as he leaned back. “Truce? In what matter?”  
“Our ongoing rivalry, of course. I’m ready to set it aside.”  
“Rivalry? Really? I must admit to no knowledge of such a thing.”  
“Admit it or not, but my offer of truce is real and indeed tangible.”  
“Very well, then.” Thale sighed. “Elaborate if you must.” After his initial surprise, Thale’s features had regained his natural expression, arch almost to the point of mockery.  
“I propose a joint venture to our mutual advantage.” Molytho lowered his voice. “We both know that Archmaster Ljungberg is singularly focussed on his work at the manor. Indeed, we have barely seen him for the past month and he denies us permission to visit him. His project could not have been started without our expertise and now he reaps the rewards by himself. It is gross affrontary.”  
“This assessment is accurate.”  
“With his decreased attentiveness, it is now an opportune time to accelerate our studies, yes? The Archmaster has no intention of allowing us an opportunity to surpass him. We both chafe against his leash.”  
“Dangerous words, Molytho. Please, do continue to imperil yourself.”  
Molytho’s conspiratorial whisper grew animated.  
“I know of the location of a primary source, Thale! All we need do is steal it from his property in the city, where it lies forgotten in a safe, for which I have the combination. Imagine, if you will, we shall no longer prostrate ourselves for scraps from Ljungberg’s table. We can learn directly rather than glimpsing half-truths refracted through Ljungberg’s warped understanding. We can learn those truths that he has been keeping from us.”  
“And how is it, exactly, that you have learned of this, Molytho?”  
“By subtle and skillful urging of the mistress of mirrors, she who collects forgotten secrets.”  
“So, Ljungberg has forgotten about the book.”  
“The mistress was not specific on this point, but it is what I have inferred.”  
“Well.” Thale leaned closer. “Well. This is a bold proposal. I know it appears to be a formality, but do indulge me in answering the question ‘why have you not already taken the book for yourself?’”  
“I have made an offer to share in order that we can set aside our destructive and vexatious rivalry.”  
“Again, although I will certainly admit to some antipathy, I daresay that this notion of rivalry is a fiction invented for the purposes of this conversation.”  
“You are too unkind, Thale. But if you are unmoved, surely you can at least credit me with some desire for comradeship in my conspiracy.”  
“No.”  
“Surely you do not believe me to be attempting an alliance in order to have you do all the work.”  
“No, but that is quite convincing.”  
“Alright, alright! I am terrified.”  
“I thought so.”  
“Yes! If my gambit fails and I am discovered, the Archmaster will make me into a sculpture for his garden. But the two of us… We are more than a match for him, Thale.”  
“Really, Molytho, I am less than disinterested.”  
Molytho sat back. He sighed, but the ghost of a smile drifted across his lips.  
Thale regarded him with a long, weary stare.  
The silence stretched, then Thale spoke, irritation creeping into his voice for the first time.  
“What? What is the origin of that confounded grin on your face, Molytho? I get nervous when you appear to know something.”  
Molytho’s smile widened.  
“Allow me to anticipate the final phase of this conversation, where I get up from the table and turn away, before stopping to say one last thing that will completely change your mind.”  
“Go on then.”  
“I will. But I’m not actually going to get up. It’s monstrously hot.”  
“Very well, please deliver your coup-de-grace from a seated position.”  
The moment he said the words “Izelis Tekashé’s Worlds of Hazeroth”, she nearly gasped out loud.  
Thale slammed his hands down onto the desk in front of him.  
“What? You’re sure?”  
“Certain.”  
“Why didn’t you say so in the first place? This changes everything!”  
“I know.” A look of satisfaction briefly settled on Molytho’s face, but it began to dissolve as he noticed Thale begin to laugh. “Thale, why are you chortling in that particularly infuriating way?”  
“I must admit to misleading you for my own amusement. I’ve never heard of ‘Izelis Tekashé’s Worlds of Hazeroth’.”  
Molytho put his head in his hands. “Thale, it’s a foundational text for Hazeroth xenohistory. Are you seriously suggesting you’ve never heard of it?”  
It was a book written during the aftermath of the Angevin crusade that brought the worlds of the Calyx Expanse under Imperial rule, written by the anthropologist Izelis Tekashe as he travelled around the worlds of the Hazeroth subsector. It was also one of the most heavily-redacted books ever to be published in Calixis. The Inquisition had censored it so heavily as to make some sections barely intelligible, and some chapters had been erased completely, but the rest of the information it contained was crucial to the political and social understanding of the peoples of this part of the subsector.  
Archmaster Ljungberg had a copy of the original manuscript.  
This could change everything for Meryx. The information in that book could provide vital clues for her theory. She couldn’t directly cite it as evidence, of course. Citing proscribed texts was a much quicker way to end your career than proposing controversial theories, but if she could study it then she might find links to other evidence.  
Meryx mind was racing, considering the possibilities, when she realised that Molytho was describing the book’s location. In a small safe behind a green chair in Ljungberg’s city apartment with the code 0-4-5-1.  
If theft was fair game for masters, then she had no qualms about it either. She’d probably be disinvited from the Academy soon anyway. Why not go out with a bang?  
Molytho was continuing with his attempts at persuasion. It was impossible to tell whether Thale was genuinely disinterested, ignorant or merely feigning both for his own amusement. She slipped away, tiptoeing and then running out of the library towards Ljungberg’s apartment.  
She had a vague memory of the place. He must have invited her there after she joined the Academy. The Archmaster was a strange, standoffish person who spent the vast majority of his time conducting research at his manor, a few miles out of the city on the southern shore of Lake Khul. Whenever he was sighted at the Academy, he was always dressed in flowing robes with a thick headscarf pulled tightly around his plump face. He made little attempt to socialise with others or interfere with their research, characteristics which granted him a not-insignificant amount of good will among the faculty.  
It had taken her almost an hour to get to the apartment from the library. All the while, she had been going over and over her approach in her mind. Trying to enter the apartment by going up the stairs inside the building was not sensible. Her presence would be noticed and logged by the security guard. Besides, she had no expertise in opening locked doors. The apartment building, however, was eminently climbable. She would have to break a window. While stopping to catch her breath on a street corner, she changed her boots for the climbing shoes she always carried in her document bag.  
Meryx had always been a keen climber. On her homeworld of Dalthus, a craggy, mostly untamed planet, rock climbing was the pursuit of the ruling class and as the daughter of a mining baron, she had plenty of opportunities to indulge herself.  
When she arrived on Cyprian's Gate, she had found that the slightly weaker gravity than that of her homeworld gave her a certain vim and vigour that she found intoxicating. There were no real mountains to speak of within two thousand miles of Lake Khul and the local environment was almost completely flat, so the only thing that she could climb were buildings. Which she did, passionately. Much of the city of Khul was built in a grand, ancient style, with carved façades of stone that afforded ample handholds. She usually climbed by night, in order to avoid awkward questions from the enforcers. As far as she was aware, she had never been noticed.  
This climb was an exception to her rule. There was no time to wait for darkness. She had climbed up the back of the building, out of sight of the road, before traversing along the third floor as the sun began to set and shadows crept up the side of the building to conceal her. Now she was balancing on a gargoyle underneath the balcony of Ljungberg’s apartment, steeling herself before the final stretch upwards, although not because of its difficulty.  
Trespass. Theft. I could be sent back to my mother in shame.  
She gritted her teeth.  
No, I will not be denied by sneering cynics. I need that book.  
She was resolved. With a grunt she pulled herself up and over the ornate railing and crouched down beside the glass door. Elation surged through her as she pulled down carefully on the handle and the door swung silently open.  
Not even locked. Incredible luck.  
She moved inside as quietly as she could. The apartment was a set of small rooms with one large, open plan entertaining room, with grand views of the lake from the balcony. The windowblinds cast horizontal shadows onto the lacquered bookcases as the late evening sun burned bright red through the open windows. There were paintings of Calyxian myth on the walls in ornate, gold-plated frames. The floors were expensive, off-world wood blocks, lacquered and polished. The cushions on the chairs and chaises were clad in a smooth fabric that she couldn’t name. The hot, muggy air was motionless. She could feel droplets of sweat running down her back as she looked around, trying to listen for any hint that the apartment might be occupied.  
A wooden chair with cushions upholstered in green fabric sat in the corner of the room next to a potted plant and underneath that, a safe. She knelt down and glanced at the combination she had written on her palm.  
Zero, four, five, one…  
The lock made a subtle click and she swung the door open. Inside, sitting atop a stack of letters, was a book. It was old, with brittle pages and a scuffed cover of simple leather stamped with ‘Worlds of Hazeroth’. She picked it up reverently.  
“This is awkward.”  
Someone spoke a few metres behind her. She jumped to her feet, hiding the book behind her back with one hand.  
Leaning nonchalantly against the back wall was a short, thin man with short, unkempt hair dyed a shocking fluorescent orange. He had his arms folded and wore an insolent smirk on his boyish face. He was dressed in a travel-worn, tough-looking grey jacket and black, military-style trousers. Meryx had no idea how long he’d been there.  
“Who- who are you?”  
“Well, I’m not the owner.” He began to walk towards her, looking her up and down appraisingly, his arms still folded. His accent was a glassy-smooth, high-born Scintillan.  
“That’s close enough.” It came out more shrilly than she intended. She put her hand into a pocket. “I’ve got stun-spray.” She didn’t, but she wished she had.  
The man stopped and raised his eyebrow. “Oh, let’s not get excited. We’re just two rogues having a conversation.”  
“You’re a thief?”  
He walked back over to the drinks cabinet and lifted up a decanter of amasec. “Technically not, since I haven’t yet stolen anything.” The liquid glowed amber in a sunbeam as he poured it into two intricately cut glasses. “Although I think I might make a start. Why don’t we get to know each other? This apartment doesn’t seem to have been used for some time. I’d say we’re unlikely to be disturbed.”  
Meryx shook her head. “Not interested. Also, I’m not the only person… I mean, I wasn’t planning to stay long.” As he poured, she lifted the back of her jacket and tucked the book into her trousers.  
Not quite fast enough. He turned around with a wry smile on his face.  
“Oh please. You can keep the book.” He walked back towards her, offering a glass. She didn’t take it, instead returning his look with a hostile glare.  
For just a moment, his relaxed, affable air, hardened into something else. His eyes, by the barest movement of his face, turned from genial to icy. Meryx felt an almost physical chill come over her as an impression hit her that despite this man’s relaxed, affable demeanor, he was dangerous. She took the glass.  
He smiled. His manner softened so fast that Meryx almost wondered if she had imagined it. He began to walk slowly around the room, appearing to investigate the various ornaments and paintings but Meryx could sense that he was keeping more than half an eye on her.  
“You didn’t check for security systems as you entered. So, you’re an amateur. You saw but paid no attention to the gold and ivory stationary, instead heading straight for a safe for which you knew the combination. You’re an opportunist, but with no interest in theft for mere monetary value. Instead, you probably have a personal connection to the victim and maybe also to the item you’re stealing. What is it, a book of accounts? A diary?”  
The initial shock of being discovered was wearing off and Meryx was beginning to recover her wits. She covered her nervousness with a coquettish smile.  
“How about you? You’re not a thief, because you’re more interested in talking to me. You’re not an enforcer, because you’re not arresting me. Who are you?”  
He took a sip of amasec. “Call me Iacaton. And who is my unexpected company this evening?”  
Meryx’s cheek twitched in irritation at his easy, superior manner.  
“I’m no-one’s company. If it’s company you want, you can hang around until the next couple of thieves arrive, which shouldn’t be long, provided that they can stop arguing.”  
The man was about to respond, opening his mouth, but the words died on his lips as he noticed something behind her. He walked around her, eyes fixed on the safe that Meryx had just opened. He knelt down carefully in front of it, with as much caution as he might a live cable.  
“What is this? Oh.” He breathed, deep concern in his voice.  
“This is…” He turned back towards her. His urbane manner was gone, replaced with seriousness. “Who in the Emperor’s name are you stealing from?”  
He was silenced by the scratching of a fumbling hand inserting a key into the lock of the front door. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the next room, a small kitchen, closing the door just quickly enough before the front door opened.  
He crouched down next to the door, ear pressed against the keyhole, with one hand still holding his glass of amasec. Meryx’s heart skipped a beat - she had dropped her glass on the floor in the main room.  
She put her hand over her mouth.  
The hushed voices of two men were just audible. It was Thale and Molytho.  
“The green chair, the green chair, here! What is this?” Molytho squealed in agitation. “Someone’s been here before us. How?”  
“Indeed, how? Most peculiar.” Thale trailed off.  
“They cannot have been long gone, Thale, for we have only just concluded placating the warding spirits, mere minutes ago!”  
“‘Minutes’, I suppose, is technically not inaccurate, but does stretch the generally-accepted meaning when applied to the time we have taken to ascend this stairwell. If you had not stopped to take revenge upon the occupant of the first-floor residence, we would have been here more than half an hour ago.”  
Meryx frowned. Half an hour? How did they get here so much faster than me?  
“The opportunity presented itself, Thale. How could I walk past his door and not enter it? And having entered, how could I not take his fingers and sacrifice them to that spirit whose name dwelleth in gloaming places?”  
“His only affront to you, Molytho, was to take ‘your’ seat at a seminar last week. A seminar which you did not attend.”  
“Indeed. When you informed me, I was most disturbed.”  
“Well, I must say that it’s a good job that we killed him and fed his body to his pets, or you’d have some questions to answer at symposium.”  
“I must say that it’s a good job his pets were carnivores, Thale.”  
“Well, they are now, at any rate. But let us come back to the matter at hand.”  
“What hand? Oh yes, the book.”  
“How could anyone have come and gone in that short time? No-one else has ascended or descended the stairway.”  
“Perhaps the theft happened less recently, and Archmaster Ljungberg is more distracted than we had thought. Perhaps he cares not that people are gallivanting through his home, stealing his belongings.”  
“I cannot imagine that even for a moment. This is a man who has created for his home a guard dog, that is, a dog made of guards. Aha! Look - inside the safe. A warding sigil.”  
“Yes, broken when the safe was opened. Its nature is unfamiliar to me. A curse, perhaps?”  
“No, Molytho. This is a binding enchantment. The spirit bound here in the safe was freed when it was opened without the correct invocation.”  
“To what end, though, Thale?”  
“I cannot say for certain, Molytho, but we can surmise that, as the thief has not been struck dead instantly and there is no sign of a commotion, that the spirit is not immediately dangerous. Are you sure that the Archmaster has forgotten about this book?”  
“At least somewhat.”  
While listening through the door, Meryx had been watching Iacaton’s face. When they had started to talk his mouth had bowed in anan amused smirk and he had mouthed “they haven’t noticed the glass”. As their conversation had progressed his expression had grown steadily darker, particularly at their more cryptic mutterings. He set his amasec glass down on the floor and reached inside his jacket. Light glinted off the gunmetal beneath.  
Molytho’s tone seemed to be growing more agitated.  
“I will command some assistance! Perhaps the freed spirit is extant and remains close by. I have the reagents-”  
Thale’s response was forceful. “No, Molytho!”  
“It will be but the work of moments, Thale.”  
“No!”  
“I refuse to leave this place empty-handed! The spirit can find us the book or find us our thief. Or both. Or neither! Better any of those than continuing to wallow in the figurative pool of viscid ignorance in which we figuratively find ourselves.”  
“Incidentally, by delightful coincidence, ‘viscid ignorance’ is the term by which I refer to the stomach-turning soups that you make out of the offal that you bring back from the Archmaster’s manor.”  
“I can’t tell, is that agreement?”  
“No.”  
“Ignei, aerii, aquatani spiritus, salvete!”  
“Molytho, stop!”  
Iacaton rose, sliding an autopistol from his concealed holster. He put his other hand on the door handle.  
“Orientis princeps-”  
“Stop!”  
There was an impact and then a muffled crunch.  
Molytho groaned. “Oh, what- what is this?”  
“I struck you with an ornament, you diseased maniac.”  
“No, Thale. I refer not to the stinging in my cheek, which matches closely the contours of the carving you have just wielded, but to the fragments of glass beneath my coat.”  
“I say, now this is an interesting development. How has this come to pass?”  
“I am fair terrified to answer, Thale, for the circumstance that seems most likely to me is one of dire consequence.”  
“Speak, Molytho, I bid you.”  
“I fear that our ministrations, which quelled the warding spirits here, were not sufficient to compel them fully into slumber. That they even now stir and quicken to dread vengeance against us for our impudent works. That the glass now lying here sundered was thrown, yea, just as I fell beneath your ivory assault, by a wakening power exactly like the glass thrown by a sobering drunk, roused from kerbside slumber by the kick of a passing hellion. It is but the merest taste of their insensate fury.”  
“For you, Molytho, that is a simile most uncharacteristically grounded in realism. Do I take it that you often kick comatose street-dwellers on your perambulations?”  
“Do I take it that you do not?”  
“Indeed you may. However, although I admit to a striking keenness for exploring this topic at length, I daresay that this is not the place, nor, if your quite preposterous conjecture has any merit, the time to do so.”  
“You are in agreement, then?”  
“No, but I do find it far preferable to humour your bouts of madness rather than to bow to the banal tyrannies of logic and reason.”  
“I am at once wounded and delighted, Thale. How exquisite a sensation. Are you ready?”  
“Aye, let us away from this place.”  
Two sets of footsteps retreated back out into the hallway. The door closed and a key turned in the lock. Meryx exhaled slowly. For the past minute or so she had barely breathed.  
They were mad. Completely, dangerously mad. She had not moved her hands from over her mouth for the entire, chilling conversation. Iacaton’s brow was furrowed and his eyes darted this way and that in intense thought. Meryx made to stand up, but he made a gesture that stopped her. They waited for what seemed like the slowest minutes of Meryx’s life before Iacaton teased open the door and moved silently into the main room. He held his pistol in front of him, watching the angles and sight-lines as he cleared the apartment. Meryx watched him closely.  
He’s some kind of soldier.  
After sweeping the rooms, Iacaton returned to the kitchen.  
“We’re leaving.”  
She nodded and stood up.  
He holstered his pistol and padded quietly back to the balcony. He looked carefully around, down to the ground and up to the rooftops opposite before looking back at her.  
“We’re going up to the roof and then across to the building behind this one.”  
“How?”  
“We’ll jump.”  
“Wait, just- wait a minute, what makes you think I want to come with you?”  
“It’s either that or take your chances with the two mad heretics downstairs.”  
She scoffed. “I’ll make my own way, thanks.”  
He shook his head. He started to roll up the left sleeve of his jacket.  
“What are you doing?”  
“I’m afraid I have to insist. You’re a witness.”  
“Who are you, a mercenary? An undercover enforcer? Not an arbitrator, surely?”  
“No.”  
“Then what are you? And what are you doing with your arm? Is that armour?” Underneath his jacket was a layer of fine, tight metal mesh. He pushed that up as well to reveal the hairless skin of his forearm.  
“Suffice it to say that I serve the Emperor...”  
“Don’t we all?”  
“You’d be surprised.”  
“Why are you showing me your arm?”  
It was bionic. Though the synthetic skin was highly convincing and the shape of the skeletal structure was very natural, she saw tiny, hairline joins between different sections of skin. He pressed a sequence of subdermal buttons and then a section of the flesh began to glow from beneath.  
Underneath the skin, there was a symbol she had seen only rarely, but was etched in the minds of every Imperial citizen. The barred I of the Inquisition.  
Meryx’s blood ran cold. 

***************

An hour later, they reached the sanctuary of a small hotel room in a dowdy hab block with a single bed, a chair, a desk and a wardrobe, all mass-produced from sheet metal. The walls were thin sheets of composite board spray-coated with dense insulating foam, itself sprayed with a thin layer of grey paint. The ceiling was made of metal sheets, also sprayed with insulating foam, discoloured brown, orange and green by every water leak, spilt drink or drunken vomit that ever seeped through the floor above it. The weak light from the filament lamp hanging from a cable in the centre of the ceiling cast the room in harsh, pallid light broken by sharp shadows which shifted slightly to and fro as the occupant of the room above walked around.  
Iacaton locked the door after they entered and threw his jacket onto the bed. Meryx slumped into the chair, the chill of the night clinging to her clothes. Her mind was racing. What was the Inquisition doing in Khuldr? Would they prosecute her for stealing the book?  
Not if it was a normal book. But it isn’t.  
Iacaton was tapping hurriedly on a portable cogitator he had pulled out from a drawer in the desk. After a few moments he stopped and turned to her. “We should be safe here for a while.” His tone was unreadably flat.  
The cogitator screen showed what looked like grainy pict-images. Meryx felt that talking might help to calm her nerves. “You’ve accessed the hotel’s security network?”  
“I had to fix it first, but yes.” He turned around to face her and leaned on the wall next to the desk. The fluorescent orange of his hair was perhaps even more luminant in the dim light. Having removed his jacket, his previously concealed weapon harness was fully visible and contained not one but two pistols. One was the autopistol that she had seen before, but the other was different. It was long and elegant, with a swept-back grip. She had seen its like before on the hips of nobles preening at parties. A duelling laspistol. A single-shot weapon designed for pinpoint accuracy.  
As he studied her, she sensed him noting the set of her jaw, her tense shoulders, her hands gripping the book.  
The silence stretched for longer than was comfortable. She turned her face to the side, pointedly looking away from him.  
“What happens now, mysterious Inquisitor?” Meryx tried to appear as nonchalant as she could.  
“Firstly, I’m not an Inquisitor. Secondly, I’m going to question you. You’re a witness and a possible subject of interest.”  
Meryx’s stomach knotted itself tighter at the words subject of interest.  
Iacaton continued in a quiet, level tone. “It is overwhelmingly in your interest to answer my questions truthfully. If you do, then that will be to your credit in any subsequent investigation or review. If you do not, then it will be taken as evidence of recidivism or heresy. Not to mention that it could get us both killed.”  
“Killed?”  
“Quietly, please. The walls here are thin.”  
He turned back to the cogitator on the desk. He plugged in a microphone, tapped some keys and waited for a few moments. A static hiss began to emanate from the machine.  
Baffling noise, to defend against eavesdropping.  
He stood up and folded his arms.  
“Now, what makes a-”  
“Wait, is this the start of my questioning? Aren’t you going to read me my rights, or something?”  
“Do not interrupt me again.”  
Meryx grimaced in contrition.  
Damn it, Meryx. Stop trying to control the conversation. This isn’t some flunky you can dazzle with wit or breeding. Get a grip.  
The thought must have played out on her face at the same time as it crossed her mind, for Iacaton seemed to grin in response. “To answer your question, no. You are an Imperial citizen being questioned by an agent of the Inquisition. You don’t have any rights.”  
“Oh.”  
I am in deep trouble.  
“If you answer my questions to the best of your ability, I may answer some of yours.”  
“Thank you.”  
“Please place the book on the desk.”  
Meryx stood up and carefully put the book down before returning to the chair. The tightness of her grip had left the leather of the cover carrying slight impressions of her fingertips.  
“Name.” A command, not a question.  
“Doctor Meryx Arylièn.”  
Meryx thought that she saw him half-raise an eyebrow in surprise, but he covered it quickly.  
What does that mean?  
“Birth planet.”  
“Dalthus.”  
“You’ve come a long way up from the mines of Dalthus, Doctor.”  
She laughed, her tone full of condescension.  
“Oh, I’m not a miner. My father is Baron Arylièn of Tertius Dome.”  
Iacaton’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Of course. How foolish of me. Miners don’t get scholarships, do they?”  
Meryx shook her head, momentarily dismayed.  
He seems high-born, but that wasn’t the reaction of a nobleman. He must be testing me.  
He continued. “You’re academy staff?”  
“Yes.”  
“For how long?”  
“About half a standard year.”  
“Who have you been working with?”  
She paused. She had been working quite closely with another colleague on some particular areas of her research, but for some reason she couldn’t remember his name. I can’t have been working that closely with him.  
“Not anyone in particular.”  
“Really? I see. Where was your previous position?”  
“I worked for a nobleman named Giomantus Kassandora, producing summaries of xenoarcheological research literature.”  
“Is he a scholar?”  
“Hardly. He pretends to keep up with the field so he can impress his friends.”  
“Why is this book so important to you that you would try to steal it?”  
Meryx had been waiting for the sudden pivot. She explained, first haltingly, then in depth, what had led her to Archmaster Ljungberg’s apartment that evening. The act of talking soothed her nerves and before she knew it, she fell into the familiar, measured cadence of a lecturer. A lecture was in some respects a safe haven for the speaker. Although intensely scrutinised by the audience, they were not permitted to interrupt while the speaker still talked. Meryx had not previously appreciated the focussed tranquillity of public performance, but now reassuring calm was seeping into her mind.  
Iacaton listened intently until she had finished, not moving his gaze from her face.  
“Can you confirm that you do not know what is in the redacted sections of this book?”  
“Yes.”  
He paused and looked over at the book, his brow knitted in thought.  
Meryx hazarded a question.  
“What they were saying, in the apartment- I didn’t understand it.”  
“No.” He continued to stare at the book.  
“Did you?”  
“I hope not.”  
Frustration at his vagueness pinched at her.  
Iacaton reached over and pulled the cogitator across the desk closer to where he was standing. He tapped in a few commands and picked up the microphone.  
“I need to speak to the Commissioner. I’m sending my credentials and my contact frequency through the secure channel.” He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with forefinger and thumb. In that moment, he looked much older than Meryx had first assumed. The smooth, firm skin of his face was taut with deep concern. An expression that looked too old for the face that formed it.  
“Switching to secure channel in three, two, one… secure.” He waited for a moment until someone else joined the channel.  
“Ah, Commissioner. Good evening. I need you to monitor the movements of two individuals - Master Thale and Master Molytho, both staff at the Academy. Notify me immediately on this frequency if they are located. Do not attempt to apprehend at this time. Further instructions will follow.”  
Iacaton put the microphone down and lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Meryx waited a moment before speaking.  
“Will you answer my questions now?”  
“Ask.”  
“What were you doing in the Archmaster’s apartment tonight?”  
“Looking up an old friend.”  
“You know the Archmaster?”  
“No. That apartment is where my friend was meant to be living. He didn’t mention that he had moved.”  
“What’s your friend’s name?”  
He said the name, but Meryx didn’t recognise it.  
“I’ve not heard of him. Does he work here?”  
“He’s one of the Academy’s most learned fellows. They competed fiercely to attract him here.”  
“Did he tell you that?” Meryx smiled. His friend certainly sounded like a scholar.  
“He’s not given to self-aggrandisement. He was appointed to be Chair of Hazeroth Xenohistory.”  
Meryx was taken aback. “He can’t have been. That’s the head of my department. Except that the post is currently vacant.”  
“Really, for how long?”  
“I’m not sure.”  
He stood up and began to pace up and down the small space by the side of the bed.  
“My lighter landed three hours ago. My friend gave me the name of his secretary, so I went to the man’s office as soon as I got here. He said that he’d never heard of my friend and he certainly wasn’t his secretary. I asked around the Academy and no-one else seemed to have heard of him either. I had someone look up the Academy records but they could find no mention of him. I even had the port records checked to see if he’d left the planet.”  
He stopped, staring into space. Meryx leaned forward. “Well, had he?”  
“There was no record of him ever arriving.”  
Meryx couldn’t resist raising an eyebrow.  
“Are you sure you have the right planet?”  
He ignored her.  
“After checking into this miserable pit, the last thing I did was to go to the address that he gave me. I began inspecting the place only to be interrupted by a thief stealing a book, who now tells me that the apartment belongs to someone else, followed by a couple of madmen looking for the very same book as the thief.”  
“You can call me Doctor, you know.”  
“I also found this.” Iacaton drew an object from his pocket. It was an ivory dip pen bearing intricate carvings of swirling clouds. The nib, although well-maintained, was ink-stained from heavy use. “It’s the pen that I gave him when I last saw him.”  
Meryx stood up, leaning forward to look closer. “What? Are you sure?”  
“Certain. I carved it.”  
Although it was obviously carved by a trained hand, it was not the work of a master.  
Iacaton noted her quizzical expression. “I grew up carving gang symbols into the omnilite stocks of weapons in a gunsmith’s workshop. The two materials behave similarly under the knife.”  
Meryx took a step back.  
“This… wait. Wait. So either your friend did come here and was living in that apartment, but every record and trace of him has been removed, or…”  
“Or?”  
“Your friend never came here. His pen was taken from him and placed in Ljungberg’s apartment. You were sent messages by someone else purporting to be him.”  
Iacaton began to pace once again. “That is, I suppose, technically possible.”  
Meryx folded her arms. “What if he intended to betray you?”  
“That’s…” For a moment, the mask of cool self-confidence slipped from his face. Meryx saw a sliver of doubt cross his mind. He looked away immediately, as if he knew she’d seen him slip. Then he shook his head. “No-” He stopped. He was looking at the security feeds on the cogitator screen.  
There were two figures standing in one of the corridors, silhouetted in the dim light. They were standing outside a hotel room door.  
Meryx froze in fear. She whispered. “Which corridor is that?”  
“The floor above,” Iacaton breathed, still watching the screen.  
Flutters of panic started to beat in Meryx’s chest as the figures began to move their hands in a strange, ritualistic manner. Their movements intensified until they finished with a final dramatic gesture towards the door and there was a sudden flash of light. Through the floorboards above, she heard a groaning sound and the rushing of wind. In seconds it grew louder. There was a scream that was quickly overwhelmed by the roar. Then silence, broken only by the thundering of her own heartbeat.  
On the screen, they watched as the figures pushed open the door and entered the room, followed by the sound of footsteps in the room above. Iacaton silently drew a pistol from his harness as he looked up at the ceiling. Voices murmured down through the floor plating.  
“What a mess.”  
“Our Lady of Winds will have her merry way with soft furnishings, as you know to your detriment, Molytho.”  
“The incident to which you refer, Thale, was to the detriment of my imported Seferin sedan-chair, may she rest easily in her silken afterlife, and not to my detriment at all. Unlike what has happened to our thief, here.”  
“Indeed, he or she has been most unfortunate.” He cleared his throat. “If I may make a comment unrelated to our main business here, I am beginning to form the opinion that Our Lady of Winds does not like blood.”  
“Really, Thale? What has led you to this hypothesis?”  
“Well, it seems amply demonstrated here in this very room, Molytho. Although the Lady hath consumed the bones, skin, flesh and whatever other matter constituted the erstwhile occupant, the blood has been liberally, dare I say extravagantly, left to coat almost every surface herein. I am no practised estimator of the volume of liquids projected onto flat surfaces, but I cannot imagine that the body of a human contains any more blood than that which we currently see disbursed before us.”  
“Thale, I must say in earnest that your unyielding grasp of the staggeringly obvious astounds me. While I quest for knowledge in the deepest twisting depths of esoterica, you make an academic specialty of what is plainly under your nose. I must take more time to learn from your example.”  
Iacaton took his gaze from the ceiling and quietly typed a command into the cogitator. The barred I of the Inquisition briefly flashed on the screen before the machine shut down. There was a burning smell and a puff of white smoke rose from its main vent.  
“What better time to begin than the present, Molytho, than to begin conquering your profound madness? I can inform you now that your current quest, looking for a book inside a shoe that is too small to contain it, is one that is not grounded in sound reasoning.”  
“Ah, Thale, once again you reach heights of rational deduction that seem to me as untouchable as clouds in the sky. Still, I must not be deterred. Tell me, where should we begin our search for the book?”  
In the corners where the ceiling met the walls, new, dark blotches had appeared and were starting to spread. Nausea bubbled up inside Meryx and she clenched her jaw tightly.  
“Now that is a highly intelligent question that, coming from you, Molytho, has caught me off-guard. Truly there is a great potential in you.”  
“What do you mean, ‘off-guard’? Are you saying you don’t know where to start looking for the book? Did we not come here on the information passed to us by the Shadowed One, whom we summoned?”  
“So we did, Molytho. But here the limitations of our approach become apparent, for when selecting an entity with which to conduct our reconnaissance, we neglected the fact that the Shadowed One cannot read. Thus, the potential for error in the room number that he brought back to us was considerable.”  
Iacaton holstered his pistol and threw on his jacket. He grabbed the book from the desk and pressed it into Meryx’s hands. He pointed at the window and whispered, “we’re leaving.”  
“But Thale, this is disastrous! When did your gargantuan intellect inform you of our blunder?”  
“Oh, I was fully cognisant of the flawed nature of our strategy from its very inception, Molytho, but I wished to observe the time that it took for realisation to dawn upon you.”  
“Ah, I see that in this you have been greatly disappointed.”  
“Not at all, Molytho! I have been greatly entertained! Alas I feel that now is the time to dispense with levity and concentrate on the matter at hand.”  
Meryx crossed the room to the window, tucking the book back into her trousers. The rusty hinge squeaked slightly as Iacaton pushed it open. The ground was rock-crete, five metres below. Iacaton’s raised eyebrows inferred the question, could she make it?  
She nodded.  
Thale droned on in the room above. “Although the Shadowed One cannot read, I find it fascinating that it has presented us a room number which appears laudably accurate in many ways, even if it is not in fact entirely correct.”  
“If I may make a rapid interjection, Thale, how do we know that it is not correct?”  
“The book is not here, Molytho.”  
“Excellent, please continue.”  
Iacaton gestured. Meryx reached downwards and swung herself out of the window, climbing down by a few moves before jumping the last couple of metres. She landed silently. She looked back up to the window. Iacaton had stepped back. Then the building’s fire alarm started to blare out. Iacaton vaulted out of the window and dropped to the ground, rolling to absorb the impact. He winced as he got to his feet and they ran as fast as they could into the night. 

***************

After ten minutes of running, they stopped in an alleyway to catch their breath, hiding among piles of rubbish. The smell of rotting refuse was so powerful it almost stung Meryx’s throat as she panted. “What the grok was that? What did they do?”  
Iacaton was also breathing hard. He caught his breath and then pressed two fingers to a patch of skin just behind his ear.  
“Khuldr Enforcer Command, I need a patrol car sent to my current location immediately. Additionally, Masters Thale and Molytho of the academy are to be considered armed and extremely dangerous. They must not be approached by the public. Enforcers must report all sightings immediately. Pursue and engage. Shoot to kill.”  
He lowered his hand and folded his arms, looking at Meryx as he leaned on the wall. She sat on her haunches with one hand on her knee and one hand on the cold concrete to steady herself. She spoke again. “Well?”  
He remained silent.  
“You’re not going to tell me?”  
“You might wish you hadn’t asked.”  
“If I didn’t ask questions that scared me, I wouldn’t be a scholar.”  
He grunted and then paused for a moment as if about to say something. After a few heartbeats he straightened, unfolding his arms as he walked towards Meryx, offering her his hand. “I’ve yet to make up my mind about you, Doctor. You’ll have to come to your own conclusions for now.”  
Meryx took his hand and he pulled her to her feet. The synthetic flesh of his bionic arm was warm to the touch and slightly yielding to pressure. Now that she was standing close to him, she realised how much taller she was than he, almost half a head. Something about the combination of the slightly sardonic curve of his mouth and his calm demeanor under pressure created an aura of almost mesmerising self-confidence.  
Meryx usually couldn’t stand such people, but in his case, she had a growing sense of ambivalence that she couldn’t quite articulate to herself.  
She reflected his own impudent smile back at him. “Well, as a scholar, I can’t say that that’s different to how I’m normally treated.”

***************

Five minutes later, Meryx was sitting on a bench in the back of an armoured patrol vehicle. The loose straps of gear stowed in the overhead racks swayed as the transport swept around the expansive boulevards of the city on the way back to Enforcer Command.  
She was utterly exhausted. Every muscle ached. Even her bones ached. She considered herself well-conditioned and had even kept up with the Imperial military fitness programme for a couple of months after she arrived on this planet, but as her workload had mounted up she had had less time for it. Still, it wasn’t the exertion that had drained her, but the tension. She had been vibrating with adrenaline for the past two hours and now, in the relative safety of an armoured vehicle, she felt that the nervous energy that had kept her moving was ebbing away with every breath.  
She weakly raised a military ration bar to her lips and bit a chunk out of it. Iacaton had tossed one to her as she sat down. She was attempting to eat it without disturbing her uneasy stomach.  
Iacaton was pacing up and down the centre, talking to an armoured enforcer officer who was transcribing his commands into a mobile data link terminal mounted in the wall of the vehicle. Short, mousey-coloured hair and a delicate complexion were the only identifying details about her that were apparent, her anonymising baggy uniform and flak armour hiding all else.  
“The Commissioner is to meet me when we arrive. I and Doctor Arylièn also require a personal protection detail of four officers, full combat protocol. That is all for now.”  
He stopped pacing for a moment.  
“While you have the link open, Officer Tarn, I need some information.”  
“Go ahead, sir.”  
“Search orbital transit records for another individual.”  
“Another suspect, sir?”  
“...No.”  
“The name, sir?”  
Iacaton said the name.  
“...I’m sorry sir, could you spell that for me?”  
“I’ll just type it.”  
Iacaton tapped out the name then returned to pacing up and down as the data-link whirred. After a moment, it emitted a blip sound. Iacaton span around, a grin spreading across his face.  
The enforcer frowned. “There’s no-one by that name, sir.”  
“What?” He bent down to look at the screen. “There it is.” He began speaking as if to himself. “So, my friend, you’re still here.”  
“That looks like corrupted data to me, sir.”  
Iacaton pointed. “It’s here, Officer.”  
“There’s nothing there, sir.”  
Iacaton blinked and took a step back. He spoke levelly. “Doctor, can you come here, please?”  
Meryx stood and walked over towards them, steadying herself against the transport’s lurching with hand-holds on the ceiling. She peered at the screen.  
“It says one record returned, but… it’s displaying garbage.”  
Iacaton touched the screen with his finger.  
“To be absolutely clear, neither of you can read the words that I am pointing to at this moment.”  
He was pointing to an unintelligible sequence of letters.  
Meryx shook her head. “Iacaton, it’s nonsense. Is it encrypted?”  
Iacaton stared at them both for a long moment. Wordlessly, with a haunted look in his eyes, he retreated to the back of the transport and sat down, hunched forward in deep concentration. Meryx stood up to follow him.  
“Iacaton, are you alright?”  
He continued staring forward pensively as he replied. “When I queried the records before, I didn’t have access to a terminal. I didn’t see them myself. Other people were reading the records for me…”  
“Iacaton-”  
“Why…?”  
“Iacaton-”  
“Doctor, I’m trying to think.”  
Meryx sat down opposite him. The enforcer officer was looking askance at them both.  
Meryx tried to gather her thoughts. There was a real possibility that Iacaton, this mysterious agent of the Inquisition, was fully hallucinating everything about this mysterious friend of his. In fact, it seemed that there was no other reasonable explanation.  
I don’t know anything about this man. He could be some kind of rogue agent, or one that’s gone a really specific kind of mad.  
“Iacaton.”  
He met her eyes over steepled fingers. She sat back against the vibrating transport wall.  
She smiled conciliatorially. “It’s not looking good for your theory, I have to say.”  
He didn’t reply, but stared back at her intently, his eyes tracing across the features of her face as if he were a sculptor studying a model. It sent a chill down her spine. She had heard rumours of the abilities of Inquisitors, to be able to read a person completely with a single glance merely from micro-expressions on their face and in their body language. She felt compelled to do something, say something, to break his gaze.  
“Wh- what exactly did your friend say in his messages? Did he mention that he was in some kind of trouble?”  
Iacaton blinked and looked to one side.  
“No. Nothing like that. It was just an invitation to spend some time here. It’s a planet renowned for its beauty, after all. There are several ways that he could have slipped a warning into the message if he needed to. Besides, if he had any concerns about his safety, he would have gone through his own chain of command. We’re not direct associates. He must have been taken by surprise after he sent the message.”  
He sat back, frowning. “You said that you had been to Ljungberg’s apartment before. When was that?”  
“Five standard months ago.”  
Iacaton fixed her with a penetrating gaze. “My friend invited me here five weeks ago.”  
“That… that doesn’t make sense.”  
Iacaton continued staring at her. “No, it doesn’t.”  
Meryx looked away.  
Iacaton got up and started pacing again. “The apartment seemed to have barely been lived in, or even visited. No-one had slept in the beds. There was no food anywhere, or refuse. Why would Ljungberg go to the trouble of taking the apartment for himself if he didn’t intend to use it?”  
“Maybe he has.”  
He turned to face her. “What do you mean?”  
“Maybe it’s served his intended purpose. A trap.”  
Iacaton leaned on the wall of the vehicle, tapping his foot.  
“Ljungberg is the fat spider at the centre of this web. After we speak to the Commissioner, he’s our next target. This is where we will part ways for a while, Doctor. From what we’ve learned, Ljungberg is likely to be dangerous.”  
Meryx realised that she had been shying away from considering the full implications of what they were discussing. Ljungberg was connected to everything. But if he was some kind of heretic or recidivist, how much of the academy was similarly rotten? The academy wasn’t just the biggest Imperial institution in Khuldr, it was Khuldr. Without it, this city of fifty-thousand people on the edge of a desert would simply not exist. How much of the city’s other institutions could he influence?  
Iacaton looked down at the floor and pressed his fingers to his temples.  
“How long until we reach the station, Officer?”  
Officer Tarn started, visibly shocked by their conversation. “N- not far- actually…” She looked up from the data link terminal towards the door to the driver’s cabin. “We should have been there by now.” She pressed the intercom button. “Pylk, what’s our ETA to central command?”  
There was a pause, then a the intercom crackled a distorted reply.  
“Not long. Had some traffic.”  
That’s not right. We’ve been moving the whole time. At speed.  
There were no windows in the passenger compartment. Meryx looked over to Iacaton. One of his eyebrows arched in obvious skepticism.  
Iacaton looked at Officer Tarn and spoke quietly but forcefully. “Officer Tarn, please tell us our current position.”  
Tarn swallowed as she typed a command into the terminal on her lap.  
“Um… I’m not getting a response from the locator system, sir.”  
Iacaton’s reply was curt. “I see. Please go into the driver’s cabin and get visual confirmation.”  
He crossed his arms and watched her carefully as she stood up and pressed the door keypad. A flat tone sounded and a red light lit up above the pad. The door was locked. Tarn pressed the intercom button.  
“Pylk, open the door please.”  
There was no reply.  
“Pylk, the door!”  
Iacaton uncrossed his arms and moved around her. “Allow me, Officer.”  
He slipped a small tool from his sleeve and within moments had levered off the pad’s outer casing. He pulled a small circuit board out from back of the interface panel, ripped off a wire and touched it to a bare contact on the back of the panel. He turned the panel around, keyed in a code and held the wire in place. After a few moments, the door hissed open. Tarn stepped into the cockpit.  
“Pylk, what’s going on?”  
The driver remained intent on the road as he answered. He was bald and clean-shaven. His craggy, gaunt face was tense.  
“Sorry Tarn, I was ordered to reroute to another destination and not to inform the passengers.”  
Iacaton called through the door without entering the cabin. “Where are we, Officer?”  
Tarn twisted around to speak. “We’re on the road that circumnavigates Kuld Lake, sir.”  
Meryx felt a shiver of fear. “The south side?”  
“Yes.”  
She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “We’re on the road to the Archmaster’s manor.” She looked back at Iacaton.  
His face was grim. “How far?”  
Meryx walked up to the door and looked out of the front windscreen. “We’re here...”  
Up ahead, set back from the road behind a garden overgrown with all manner of strange, non-native plants, was a house slowly coming into view. It was large and stately, sitting prominently on the hillside with a commanding view of the lake to the north. Its walls were once white, stained brown by wind-blown dust that settled in cracks in the render.  
The manor was one of a number of buildings around lake Khul built in an ancient style, made of stone, wood and ceramic brick. This one was fast becoming a decrepit ruin. Climbing plants had conquered almost the whole structure, matting the walls and even the roof in a tangle of green and brown. They held the house in a crushing grip, cracking the roof tiles and the plastered surfaces, as if they were trying to pull the structure into the earth.  
A moment later, the sound of the road changed from the low rumble of tyres on rock-crete to the crunch of loose stones as the driver turned off the road and onto the driveway that led through the garden up to the front of the house.  
Iacaton barked an order. “Tarn, back here now.”  
She stepped back through, eyes wide, tone defensive.  
“Sir, I had no idea-”  
“Open the weapons locker, Officer.”  
She nodded and began keying in the code while Iacaton opened another storage locker, removing a sturdy black flak vest.  
“Put this on, Doctor.” He threw the vest at her. She caught it and belted it on as quickly as she could.  
The weapons locker beeped as Tarn turned the handle and opened it. There was a rack of black shotguns, ammunition pouches. Underneath a rack of matte, boxy laspistols was a shelf of grenades.  
“Load up, both of you. Doctor, have you ever used a weapon before?”  
“Of course.”  
“What was it?”  
“A Takara Palatine laspistol.”  
“Really?” Iacaton’s eyebrow rose in appreciation. “Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with a Civitas for now.”  
He handed her a laspistol and a couple of charge packs. She strapped a holster to her waist.  
The vehicle jerked to a stop as the driver suddenly lifted his foot from the pedal and engaged the brake. He stood up and stepped into the doorway to the passenger compartment. He drew his sidearm from its holster and held it by his side.  
“I’m afraid I’m under orders to detain you-”  
“Put that down now,” Iacaton said without even looking at the man.  
The moment Pylk began to raise his laspistol, Iacaton’s arm moved in a flash, drawing his own pistol and aiming it at the man’s face.  
“Drop it.”  
Pylk had his pistol half-raised. He glanced at Tarn. She had frozen while loading a shotgun she had just picked off the rack.  
Iacaton spoke slowly and clearly. “Officer Tarn, it’s time to make a decision. I am here as a representative of the Ordo Malleus Calixis. As Throne Agent in service to the Inquisition, I can guarantee you immunity from prosecution from any planetary authorities while you follow my orders. You will have safe passage off world and the opportunity to apply for training and service at the highest levels the Imperium has to offer. You have my word. Now, please remove this man’s weapon and restrain him.”  
Tarn hesitated. There was a moment of vivid tension. Meryx could barely breathe.  
Tarn was about to say something when Pylk suddenly gasped. He blanched, strange expressions crossing his face. “I… feel-”  
He dropped his pistol and all expression vanished, his mouth agape. He stood staring unblinkingly at the back wall of the transport for a few moments.  
Tarn was first to speak. “Pylk?”  
His face, still vacant and passive, twitched. He spoke haltingly, in a hoarse whisper.  
“Proceed to the house.”  
A quiver of fear crept into Tarn’s voice. “What’s wrong with him, sir?”  
Iacaton kept his pistol pointing at Pylk’s face. He spoke clearly and slowly. “I am an agent of the Emperor’s Most Holy Inquisition. With whom am I speaking?”  
Pylk was having difficulty speaking. His face contorted strangely as he tried to form sounds, like a hermit mute for decades trying to speak once more. “It will be easier to talk... in the flesh.”  
Iacaton’s expression grew darker. “He is possessed.”  
Meryx heard Tarn’s breath catch.  
Iacaton addressed Pylk loudly. “We will certainly talk in the flesh, as you put it, but at a time of my own choosing. I have no intention of following your commands, sorceror.”  
“If you do not, then you will be compelled.”  
Officer Tarn racked the shotgun that she had just loaded and aimed it at Pylk. Meryx could see emotion visibly tugging at the corner of her mouth.  
Iacaton began to speak. “And what does that mean-”  
He was silenced as Pylk’s expression became agonised. Pylk doubled over, a dry, wordless hiss escaping his gritted teeth as the armour on his back started to bulge. The straps creaked and strained and then snapped, his shirt ripping to reveal enormous dark lumps swelling under his skin. From them erupted green shoots, plant tendrils that shot in all directions, curling around the controls of the vehicle and the handles of the doors. The tendrils sprouted leaves and buds that grew rapidly, white flowers bursting from them like fireworks. Then, in a final, exquisite twist of horror, at the centre of each flower was a tiny human mouth. In quiet unison, each mouth breathed words.  
“Am I not powerful?”  
Officer Tarn screamed in pure terror, firing repeatedly with her shotgun. Shells ripped through plant growth and human tissue alike, spraying the interior of the vehicle with sap and blood.  
Iacaton was shouting. “Out! Get out!”  
He shoved Meryx behind him to the back of the vehicle. She fumbled frantically at the opening stud and the pneumatic door hissed open. She stumbled out, nearly tripping.  
She was hyperventilating.  
Shock.  
She felt the word echo around her mind as animal fear gripped her.  
I’m in shock.  
She looked back. Iacaton was dragging Tarn out with both hands around her waist as she kept firing. As her shotgun clicked empty, Iacaton shoved her out of the vehicle. He leapt out himself, then turned, drawing his duelling laspistol. He aimed through the door and fired. Meryx saw the las bolt hit the rack of grenades. There was a flash of white. The vehicle shook as a rapid sequence of explosions rang out from within it, followed by silence broken only by Tarn and Meryx’s ragged breaths.  
Iacaton turned back to face them, reloading and holstering his pistol. He extended a hand to Tarn, lying on her back. “Are you still with us, Officer?”  
Tarn stared at him, wild-eyed. For a moment, Meryx thought she might be about to strike him or run screaming into the night, but Tarn just nodded slowly. She took his hand and stood. Even in her thick armour, Meryx could see her shaking. She started reloading her shotgun.  
Iacaton walked over to Meryx, hand outstretched. “Are you alright, Doctor?”  
She whispered, her mouth bone dry. “I… I don’t know.”  
“Stay alert. ”  
Meryx took his hand and got to her feet.  
She looked around at the verdant garden. Trees and plants of dazzling variety of size and form grew densely on all sides. It was now fully night and there was no light in the garden apart from that which came from the house and the transport, creating a forbidding thicket of shadows and silhouettes between. The path up to the house was overgrown on both sides, with vegetation almost blocking it completely.  
Meryx moved closer to Iacaton. “Are we on our own? Can you get help from the Inquisition?”  
He was keeping half an eye on the house as he checked his weapons. “I’ll need a powerful vox unit. The one in the transport will do, if it wasn’t damaged when I shot the weapons locker. However, the phenomenon that we just witnessed in there inside the vehicle may still be dangerous… if we haven’t already been contaminated. Tarn, was there a portable vox unit stowed in passenger compartment?”  
Tarn didn’t reply. She racked her shotgun.  
Iacaton turned to face her. “Tarn!”  
Meryx gasped as she saw Tarn’s face. Her tense frown and clenched jaw relaxed into expressionlessness before their eyes. She turned to face Iacaton awkwardly and spoke, voice uninflected. “Proceed to the house.”  
A snarl twisted Iacaton’s face. He walked toward Tarn slowly. “If you think that your powers impress me, you filth,” he growled, “you’re mistaken-”  
“You waste time in vain, agent. No-one is coming.”  
They were standing face to face. Iacaton stared into Tarn’s eyes. “Tarn, if you can hear me, keep fighting.” While he talked, he quietly unclipped a grenade from her belt. “I will get you out-”  
A single word formed on Tarn’s lips. “Enough.”  
There was a horrific popping and cracking sound. Tarn’s flak armour stretched, growing tight around her arms and legs as they swelled visibly. In less time than it took for Iacaton to take a step backwards, she grew half a metre taller and her muscles ballooned in size. She seized Iacaton’s upper arms and lifted him off the ground as if he were no heavier than a child. The grenade slipped from his desperate fingers as she started carrying him towards the house.  
He struggled, trying to reach for a weapon, but her hold was unbreakable. For the first time, confidence drained from his face and she saw fear in his eyes.  
“Doctor, run! Get out of here!”  
Before Meryx had time to respond, Tarn plunged into the thick vegetation, carrying Iacaton out of sight. The sound of their passage quickly faded into inaudibility beneath the rustling of the leaves, gently shaken by the soft, warm wind coming off the desert and her heartbeat thundering in her ears.  
An odd stillness came over her, almost as if time had stopped.  
She felt breathless panic rising in her chest. Every instinct was telling her to run out into the night and keep running until she found a hole to hide in.  
I… I can’t.  
She knew that she couldn’t. She was wanted by the enforcers. The book was being hunted by madmen with strange powers. Outside the city, there was only barren desert for two hundred kilometres.  
I have to go in.  
She could barely bring herself to take even one step toward the manor.  
As she unconsciously wrapped her arms around herself, her hand brushed the grip of the laspistol at her side. She looked down at it in surprise.  
I didn’t even think to draw it.  
She also felt the book under her jacket, still tucked into her trousers, pressing into her back.  
I’m never stealing anything again.  
She realised that she had been backing away when her foot touched something metallic on the ground. She looked down.  
The grenade.  
She picked it up. She had never held one before. It was much heavier than she thought it would be. Its ridged, angular surface glinted in the darkness.  
A dry voice came from behind her.  
“I say, this is a surprise, Doctor Arylièn.”  
She spun around. In the red light of the transport’s rear lights were two figures standing ten paces away. One was tall and gaunt, the other by comparison rounder. She had not heard them approach over the gravel.  
Holy Terra.  
Thale spoke again.  
“You’ve led us on a merry chase this evening.”  
“Yes.” Molytho wheezed. “I’ve seldom been as entertained by an academic pursuit, as it were!” He seemed a little out of breath.  
“Quite. The truth is, had we known that it was you, we would have offered to share in our research. Wouldn’t we, Molytho?”  
The gravel crunched as he walked slowly towards her.  
“Certainly, Thale. Although it is unfortunate that the good Doctor has taken up with... What is she holding?”  
Meryx pulled the pin from the grenade.  
Thale and Molytho stepped back, arms raised.  
“Doctor, please! Calm yourself!”  
Meryx felt tension about to boil out of her. She held the grenade in one hand, her fingers still tightly gripping the lever that prevented the fuse lighting. With her other hand she reached behind her and drew the book out from beneath her jacket. She held them both together and watched their faces fall.  
“Listen to me! Take another step forward and I will blow us and this book all the way to the feet of the Golden Throne.” Her voice came out strained and shrill.  
Thale put his hands together. “Doctor, please, there’s no need for this. All we want is the book. If you want no further association with it or us, then we will be on our way immediately.”  
Meryx’s veins surged white hot with fury.  
“Shut up. Don’t you dare make any strange hand gestures because I’ve seen what you can do with them. I am warning you that I am very tense and I have absolutely no patience for any of the tricks you’re thinking of pulling.”  
“Very well, Doctor, what is-”  
“Aa-ah! I’m still talking. Don’t you dare think I’m not serious. My career is over. My life might be ruined. The enforcers have a warrant for my arrest and I am this close to deciding that it’s better to just let go of this grenade and scream ‘Ave Imperator’ as I’m blown to bits, because at least I wouldn’t have to do any more bloody running. Now this is what we’re going to do next. You’re going to walk into that house up there and I’m going to follow you. Then you’re going to free my friend, who has been taken prisoner by Archmaster Ljungberg. After that, I will give you the damned book and we’ll all part ways amicably.”  
Their faces fell further. Molytho bit his lip and looked at Thale.  
“Um, that’s not wise… We’ve taken a big risk just getting this close to the house. Already I feel the plants looking at me. Don’t you think they’re getting closer?”  
“Molytho, I started this evening thoroughly disinterested in your ill-advised escapade, but on a whim I resolved to see it through for the sake of entertainment. Do you not think that this is a most unexpected and invigorating turn of events? I must say, Doctor Arylièn, you continue to impress me. Come Molytho, let us face our master.”  
Molytho glowered. “We could easily subdue her, Thale. Here, allow me-”  
“No, Molytho! The poor Doctor has suffered enough this evening. Now that we have betrayed the Archmaster, we will not be able to avoid facing him for long. It is to our advantage to do it while he is distracted with his captive. Additionally, was it not you who argued that he could not match our combined power?”  
“That was merely a device of rhetoric, Thale. Surely you appreciated that?”  
“You have taught me a valuable lesson, this evening, Molytho. On no account should you, at any time, be taken seriously.”  
Thale walked around Meryx towards the path up to the house. Molytho followed, muttering under his breath.  
“They are, they are getting closer.”  
Meryx exhaled slowly. She couldn’t quite believe she had done it.  
But what have I done?  
Molytho caught up to Thale as he strode up the path.  
Thale and Molytho gingerly pushed aside the thick vegetation. Molytho in particular flinched severely whenever a frond or tendril touched him. With the adrenaline rush and the sudden release of tension that Meryx felt, she found herself stifling laughter every time it happened.  
“They’re just plants, Master Molytho.”  
“Oh, no, Doctor. Not just. You haven’t seen what the Archmaster can do with plants. Oh, oh this is not well-advised.”  
Meryx swallowed.  
Thale hissed. “Silence, both of you.”  
As they emerged out of the densest part of the path and onto a wide, paved area in front of the house, she sighed with relief. The ornately carved wooden doors to the house were wide open, light flooding out into the dark garden. The sight was at once welcoming and ominous.  
Thale stopped suddenly and gasped. “No, he shouldn’t be able- Aaaagh!”  
He went silent. Molytho’s eyes bulged and he shrieked, stopping in his tracks, his feet rooted to the spot, then he too went silent.  
Meryx felt a strange sensation creep over her. A spreading numbness, out from her heart to every part of her body. Her body stopped moving, stopped obeying her.  
The three of them were silent. Then they started walking.  
Meryx tried to stop. She couldn’t. Her legs carried on. Her muscles contracted and relaxed on their own. She tried to speak, to make some movement, but although she strained, her body did not respond. She caught a glimpse of Thale and Molytho’s faces as they turned a corner, walking deeper into the house. They were expressionless.  
Every room and corridor of the manor had plants growing in it. Thick woody roots ran through everything, twisting and warping the polished floorboards and slowly crushing the bricks to dust. Out of the tangled limbs budded flowers and sometimes stranger things, like claws, or eyes.  
What Meryx saw as she passed through the rooms of the house both disgusted and fascinated her, at first. One room they walked through contained creatures inside transparent cocoons hanging from the ceiling. In another was an enormous worm, its flesh peeled back and stretched out by wooden stakes, revealing clusters of gently pulsating organs.  
As they were marched deeper, the sights grew more profoundly disturbing. Ljungberg had been experimenting on not just plants and animals, but humans. As she witnessed horror after horror, she wanted to run screaming from the wrongness and inhumanity, but her legs kept marching inexorably onwards. She couldn’t clamp her hands over her ears to keep out the moans of the mutated and the mutilated. She couldn’t even force her eyes to close.  
Deep inside the house, they reached a staircase that led downwards. They descended into an atmosphere considerably warmer, laden with moisture and sickly-sweet pollen. At the bottom of the stairs, the floor was covered in a spongy, flesh-coloured substance that compressed as they stood on it. Through her soft shoes, Meryx could feel it moving.  
They emerged a large, wide chamber, perhaps originally made of brick and timber, but no longer. The fleshy substance covered every surface. Green vines and fleshy tentacles hung from the walls, enormous flowers blooming all over vine and tentacle alike in intense colours. Soft light was cast from luminescent spheres held by turgid extrusions hanging from the walls. In the centre of the room, suspended from the dome in a cradle of thick roots was a sphere of stone, about two metres across with a surface smooth and black like polished jet. Beneath it was a man, also suspended in mid-air by a network of roots, curled into a fetal position. He was naked. Pallid skin stretched over an emaciated body. Thin, translucent tendrils snaked all over his skin, penetrating the flesh of his abdomen. His bald head tipped backwards, staring catatonically upwards at the sphere of rock just above him. Droplets of black liquid rolled across his face up to his forehead, falling upwards onto the sphere.  
Tarn and Iacaton were standing a few steps away from him, unmoving.  
Everyone stopped, immobile. Silent.  
For the first time in her life, mortal terror sank its teeth into Meryx, her sanity hanging by a thread.  
Emperor, save me! Save me!  
At the back of the room, the vines began to move by themselves, parting to admit a figure. Archmaster Ljungberg.  
He walked across the tangled carpet of vegetation with an easy, untroubled grace. His face, held high, bore a triumphant smile. As he walked towards them, he removed his headscarf. Underneath was not the skin of a human, but the rubbery texture of flower petals. His head was a flower bud, tightly furled with petals overlapping. The outer surface of each flesh-coloured petal bore exactly the same face. The petals began to peel back, the flower opening to reveal a grotesque, bulbous stamen, glistening with fluid. It began to humm and then Meryx realised that through its vibration, Ljungberg was speaking. As words formed from the sounds of the vibrating stamen, the mouths of his many faces mimicked the movements of human speech.  
“Such a variety of insects caught in my traps tonight.”  
He walked slowly around the stone sphere. Meryx wanted to look away, but couldn’t.  
“Agent Iacaton Imperatine of the Inquisition, you came more quickly than I had expected. You must have been eager to take the air and enjoy some rest in Khuldr. You have arrived in time to witness the final stages of your friend’s slow demise as my lord feeds upon his essence.”  
Ljungberg stopped in front of Thale and Molytho.  
“My apprentices. Your hunger in the face of temptation was too great, your loyalty too poor. The test that you faced was rudimentary, but still you failed. Regrettable. Your assistance in summoning my lord was vital, but in the time since we last spoke, I have far surpassed your wildest fantasies of power. My command of flesh is unyielding. Unbreakable. Your minds, imprisoned. You sense my power. Any attempt at resistance and I will squeeze the blood from your hearts in an instant.  
“Presently my influence is only faltering beyond this house, but soon its reach will extend far beyond. This and other things I have gained from my lord, for he is generous, so generous, to those who aid his return.”  
Ljungberg gestured with a hand towards Tarn. Everyone turned to face her as one, their bodies commanded by him as if they were his own.  
“This once average individual is now transformed. She has the strength and the guts of an Astartes. What I worked toward for years has, with my lord’s gifts of knowledge and power, been accomplished with but a passing thought.”  
Everyone turned to face him once again as he stood in front of Meryx.  
“The unfortunate Doctor Arylièn. Your presence here is unintended, but not unwelcome. You were never meant to be caught in these designs. But, even if you had not wandered into the trap that I designed for my wayward apprentices, your research could not be allowed to continue indefinitely. The vast majority of work done at this Academy is meaningless drivel, but you work has stumbled across something that has deeper meaning. It would only be a matter of time before it, and you, would require my attention.” He stepped closer, his pungent smell almost choking her. His voice lowered almost to a whisper. “For there are truths there that should remain hidden.”  
He stepped back. She caught a glimpse of a grinning face on one of the downturned petals.  
“I sense, Agent Imperatine, that you wish desperately to speak. I will grant you this.”  
Iacaton’s mouth started to move.  
“You… you will burn-”  
“Come now, Agent, don’t waste your last words on banalities.”  
“What have you done to my friend? You removed all trace of him! How? No-one on this planet remembers him. No-one can even read his name. They can’t even hear it!”  
“As I said, he is feeding my lord. All that he is is being consumed, not just his flesh. His impression upon reality will vanish completely. Doctor Arylién, his assistant, has already entirely forgotten him.”  
What?  
“Yes, yes, but why can I still remember him?”  
“Can you? What is his name?”  
Iacaton was silenced. His mouth worked frantically and he let out an exasperated cry.  
“I… I can’t… it’s gone!”  
“Proximity to the summoning has accelerated the process of consumption. Soon you will not remember why you came here at all.”  
“Why him? Why me? You could have chosen anyone.”  
“No. You knew my lord before he ascended.”  
“I’m quite sure I’ve never met your damned ‘lord’.”  
“Yes, you have. For his name is Lord Azsch’iignt’oohnn.”  
Iacaton gasped in horror. “No. No no no. That’s not possible! He was destroyed!”  
“Not so. Changed and taken beyond this realm, yes, but not destroyed. He yearns to return, but for that, he needs a connection. A beacon to follow and allies to guide him. Your friend met him only briefly but, once he had been pacified and prepared, this small amount of mutual shared history was enough to start the process of summoning. Alone, however, he would not have been enough. We needed you. You were there when he was taken into the warp. That is why you were brought here. It was not an insignificant task to break your friend’s will, but after many months of my lord’s feeding, his mind was made pliable enough to betray you.”  
Ljungberg reached out and touched a finger to Iacaton’s forehead. “I was going to wait for your friend to be totally consumed, but I have reconsidered. Now comes the time for fresh soil.”  
Tarn lurched towards the stone sphere. She bent down and ripped the withered husk of a man from the cradle of roots. Blood dribbled in pitiful rivulets from where the tendrils had torn away flesh.  
Iacaton cried out. “Wait! Just one more thing!”  
Ljungberg cradled Iacaton’s chin in his hand. “Yes?”  
Iacaton drew his duelling laspistol and fired it at Ljungberg’s head-stamen with a flash and an ear-splitting crack. It burst in a spray of pungent fluid.  
“You forgot about my bionic arm, you freak!”  
He rotated his wrist and the barrel of a concealed weapon popped up out of his forearm. He fired a burst of bullets into Ljungberg’s torso as the wounded sorceror fell to his knees.  
All of the plants began to vibrate, as if waves of pain were pulsating through every living thing in the house. Meryx’s body shuddered and her arms and legs began to twitch. Ljungberg’s control was wavering.  
The grenade slipped through her spasming fingers.  
Adrenaline surged. She felt time slow as the grenade fell toward her feet. She only had one chance. She aimed a kick and caught the grenade as it bounced, sending it flying towards Ljungberg.  
Iacaton flung himself backwards, trying to draw his other pistol, but the plants on the walls and floor were surging forward like a wave. Thick green tendrils wrapped around Iacaton’s arms and legs, pulling him to the ground. Ljungberg staggered to his feet, arms raised, every one of his faces screaming with rage.  
The grenade went off. The sound stabbed into her ears, setting them ringing like bells. She gasped for breath as if she’d been punched in the gut. She opened her eyes after closing them reflexively. Ljungberg’s body had exploded in a gruesome shower of blood and sap. Violent convulsions were rippling through all of the organic matter in the room, shaking the stone sphere free of the roots that held it. It crashed into the floor, cracking into pieces with a thunderous boom that shook the whole house.  
Thale and Molytho were gone, as if vanished into thin air. Iacaton jumped to his feet as the plants gripping him fell away.  
“Time to leave, Doctor!” He dashed over to the prone body of his friend and began to drag him out of the room with a hand. He looked back towards her.  
“Doctor!”  
Meryx felt as if the room was growing colder. A strange, dazed feeling had crept up on her, like a hand pulling her down to the floor. She looked down. Red patches were spreading across her clothing, on her legs and arms. There were punctures in her flak vest from which protruded small shards of metal.  
She realised, in a distant, disconnected way, that she had been caught by the blast.  
“I… I…”  
Tarn stepped in front of her, catching Meryx as she collapsed and holding her upright with one large hand gripped tightly around her upper arm.  
“Walk!”  
Meryx nodded. She walked forward in step with Tarn. Pain started to seep into the edges of her consciousness. The edges of her vision darkened.  
I’m very badly hurt.  
I’m going to die.  
Iacaton was suddenly in front of her. He had something in his hands, a white tube. He ripped off the top revealing a short, thin needle. He stabbed it into Meryx’s leg and held it there for a moment. The injection felt like a live wire being inserted under her skin.  
She gasped. Suddenly everything came into focus. The growing tsunami of pain that had been building within her was gone. Sounds seemed more intense and there was a rumbling roar that she hadn’t noticed before. Every inhalation was like breathing pure oxygen, her fingertips buzzing, her heart fluttering.  
Iacaton’s face was right in front of her, looking into her eyes.  
“How do you feel, Doctor?”  
“G- good. Amazing!”  
“It won’t last. Remember, you’re still injured.”  
He exchanged some concise military-speak with Tarn and then they were moving. Meryx stumbled up the stairs, supported by Tarn. Iacaton was stooping low with his friend hoisted over one shoulder, autopistol held ready in his free hand. The roaring sound grew louder as they ascended.  
As they reached the top of the stairs the sound became deafening. The roots and branches knitted through the fabric of the house were thrashing in agony, tearing through the walls and floor. A massive crash sounded to their left and a cloud of brick dust covered them. Parts of the house were already collapsing. The corridor back to the front of the house was already blocked.  
“That way!” Iacaton shouted, pointing to a doorway on their right, partially hidden by rubble.  
“Holy-” Tarn breathed as the ceiling began to buckle above them. She picked Meryx fully off the floor and raced over to the doorway, leaping over piles of detritus with hardly an effort. Tarn dropped her to the ground in the doorway and doubled back. Meryx felt a surge of something like pain, deadened to a dull ache by the stimm injector. She staggered to her feet, bracing on the wall next to her. She looked down at her shaking legs.  
There’s a lot of blood.  
Tarn ran back through the doorway carrying the emaciated man with Iacaton following close behind. He put an arm around Meryx, supporting her as they hobbled towards what looked like an external door. Tarn kicked it open and they rushed out into the cool night air. The surge of relief Meryx felt as she breathed it in vanished before her lungs were full. The metallic stink of blood hung in the air, thick.  
They had emerged into a small courtyard surrounded by walls on all sides. The carcasses of two large creatures lay half-consumed and rotting just beside them, torn apart by something with horrendous, brutish strength.  
A ragged bellow sounded from the other end of the courtyard. Meryx looked up to see two creatures racing towards them. They were hairless, with vaguely canine anatomies but more than a metre tall at the shoulder, powerful front legs and huge heads. Iacaton had already taken aim and fired a burst into the face of the first one, hitting both its eyes. It cannoned into the second one, half-tripping it as it lolloped towards them with its strange gait.  
Tarn dropped the emaciated man and started blasting with her shotgun, the noise of each shot a thumping impact on Meryx’s eardrums. Bits of the approaching creature’s flesh exploded in gouts of blood, but still it kept coming until a shot found its head and it fell, landing with a wet thump.  
Both were dead before Meryx managed to get her laspistol out of its holster. She cursed, deciding to just keep it drawn.  
“Reloading!” Tarn’s voice was hoarse, edged with hysteria as she pushed shells into her shotgun.  
“Stay sharp, Officer.” Iacaton’s voice was authoritative and calm.  
Tarn nodded, determination on her face. She picked up the emaciated man under one arm while holding her shotgun in the other, braced at her hip.  
On the other side of the courtyard was another door leading into a low building. The door wasn’t locked. Iacaton opened it with a push. He and Meryx held their pistols in front of them.  
As they entered they were hit with a powerful stench of filth and decay. The building consisted of one long, open hall. The light from the open doorway and small windows only penetrated a few metres inside. Tarn flicked on her shotgun’s barrel-mounted torch. Its thin, weak beam illuminated five rows of cages stretching all the way to the back wall. The cages were big enough to hold humans. Some of them contained hideous creatures, like foul chimeras grown directly from nightmares. They hissed as the light passed over them.  
Iacaton pointed. “A window.”  
There was a window at the other end of the hall. Through it could be seen red and white light.  
The patrol vehicle! We’re almost out!  
The creatures in the cages snarled and wailed as the group moved quickly down the centre of the hall. As she looked in mesmerised horror, Meryx noticed something about the cages.  
“The… the empty cages - they’re open.”  
Tarn cursed, sweeping her shotgun back and forth frantically. Baleful eyes glinted in the torchlight.  
Iacaton whispered. “Flare, now!”  
Tarn let go of her shotgun’s handle, letting it hang on the shoulder strap as she pulled a short stick flare from a pocket. She pushed the activator by tapping it on her thigh and dropped it on the floor. Bright red sparks burst from one end of it. The room was transformed by its flickering light into something resembling a hellscape, the cages lit up crimson, casting a tangle of angular shadows onto the walls. Hybrid creatures were lurking there, stalking them silently behind the lines of cages. Meryx couldn’t tell how many there were.  
Iacaton pushed Meryx at Tarn and snatched Tarn’s laspistol from her hip.  
“Take her and run!”  
He stared shooting with a pistol in each hand as Tarn grabbed Meryx around the waist and bolted toward the end of the hall.  
The creatures charged, howling with bloodlust and knocking over cages that squealed and clanged against the floor tiles. Most of them stayed circling Iacaton but, with a stab of fear, she saw some of them peel off to follow her and Tarn.  
Meryx fired frantically. She hit two before Tarn flung her and Iacaton’s friend across the floor to the base of the window. Tarn turned just as a hulking, ape-like creature with enormous teeth leapt on her, bringing her to the floor.  
Meryx, momentarily disorientated, struggled to her knees. She raised the pistol and shot two more creatures approaching from the side.  
Tarn was on her back. She had the ape-thing by the neck, holding it at arms-length as she choked it, but the ape was beating her about the head and chest with its massive fists. Tarn’s hold was slipping. Meryx held her breath, aiming carefully at the ape’s head as it twisted against Tarn’s grip.  
I can…  
She squeezed the trigger. The pistol flashed and the ape went limp, a scorched hole in the side of its head. Tarn heaved its body away and staggered to her feet.  
Meryx looked back down the hall. There was an alternating, irregular staccato of a laspistol’s fizzing snap and an autopistol’s heavy, resounding bang. In the red pool of light from the flare, Iacaton turned this way and that on the spot like a dancer, shooting each hybrid as it came near him with single shots to the head or heart.  
Tarn gripped her shotgun and blasted the window. Fresh air and the sound of engines poured in. Tarn picked Meryx up and stood her on her feet. Meryx covered Tarn with her laspistol as she picked up the emaciated man and leapt out of the window.  
Meryx sagged back against the wall. Try as she might, her strength was ebbing away to nothing. She was powerless to stop herself slowly sliding down onto the cold floor. Sounds were growing quieter, lights were dimming into darkness. She started to grow acutely aware of her heartbeat.  
Slow. Slowing.  
Suddenly Iacaton was in front of her, looking into her eyes, holding her face.  
“Doctor, hold on. We’re almost there.”  
But she couldn’t. 

*************

Pools of light started to resolve into recognisable shapes. Dreamy, semi-awareness became consciousness. Meryx was lying down on a comfortable bed in the centre of a small room, softly lit by glow-globes. There was a metal chair next to the bed, as well as medicae monitoring apparatus to which she was connected by various tubes and wires. Gentle currents of warm air drifted past her, circulated by a buzzing fan in a ceiling vent. There was a low rumbling noise coming from somewhere far off. The walls were dull, dark grey metal. At one end of the wall opposite, a cogitator terminal blinked and whirred. At the other end was a metal door, closed. Floating next to it, near the ceiling, was a servo skull, a blinking red dot in one of its eye-sockets.  
She had been undressed. She was wearing white hospital gown tied loosely at the back. Her arms and legs were bandaged.  
I’m alive. But where?  
She listened for a moment longer. She could hear nothing except the distant rumble.  
This must be a ship.  
She sat up, wincing. The moment she did so, the servo skull made an electrical chirping sound, then emitted a crackling voice.  
“Doctor Arylièn, welcome aboard the Astfana Logis. You are recovering from surgery. Please make no strenuous movements. You will be seen shortly by a representative of the Inquisition.”  
The word still sent shivers of fear down her spine. She hoped that this ‘representative’ was Iacaton.  
As Meryx sat on the bed, flashes of memory started to come back to her. She remembered the lights and sounds of vehicles. Enforcers in armour. She was carried on a stretcher, her arm hanging down, brushing blades of grass. Warm blood trickling down her fingers.  
A vivid image struck her. Officer Tarn, surrounded by enforcers pointing weapons at her, with her hands behind her head.  
What happened?  
The door made a clunking sound and opened outwards. Iacaton stepped into the room, looking refreshed. He wore a crisp-looking black suit and his fluorescent hair was slicked back. He walked briskly, a spring in his step and a satisfied smile on his lips. The door closed behind him.  
“Doctor, please don’t get up, you should be resting.” He eased her back onto the bed, propping her up with pillows. “Your flak vest saved your life, but you sustained several deep wounds in your arms and legs. Fortunately, the medicae staff in Khuldr managed to remove all of the shrapnel. You’ll make a full recovery.”  
“Where am I?” Meryx tried for a nonchalant tone.  
“The Astfana Logis, in orbit around Cyprian's Gate. As soon as loading finishes, we’ll be off towards the translation point, which will take a few days.”  
Meryx tried to take it in without panicking. Her life was now out of her control, unravelling before her eyes, but she would be damned if she was going to let it unravel her with it.  
“What about all of my research? My office - I had a lot of things-”  
“Everything at your address and in your office has been packed and stored on board, Doctor.”  
“But… you can’t just uproot my whole life!”  
Iacaton smiled apologetically. “I can and you should be glad that I did. Had I not brought you with me, then you would have fallen under the purview of an Inquisitor named Jhanath Visckan, who has assumed control of the entire sorry mess down there. Visckan is currently kicking over every rock in the city to see what comes crawling out, to find out exactly what happened and who was under Ljungberg’s influence. He certainly had people at the top of the enforcers, at the very least. As both a witness and a member of the faculty, you would have been subject to extensive interrogation.”  
He got to his feet and began to pace up and down by her bedside.  
“I too am a key witness and he would, no doubt, want to interrogate me as well. He outranks me, so there’s very little I could do about it if he was determined.” His smile became a mischievous smirk. “However, I have been urgently and unavoidably summoned by my own Inquisitor and must leave the system immediately. Regrettably, a written report is all that I can contribute to the Inquisitor’s investigation.  
“Your testimony will form part of my report, but don’t worry, you can have a few hours to recover before we start the interview.”  
Meryx breathed out heavily, trying to push away the mental images of inquisitional interrogations that clamoured in her mind.  
“How did you manage justify taking me with you?”  
“Well…” He cocked his head. “You performed well, in the circumstances. My justification was that you’re being evaluated.”  
Evaluated for what? No, I can’t deal with the answer to that question now.  
“What about Tarn?”  
Iacaton stopped. The smile fell from his face.  
“Officer Giulietta Tarn is also coming with us.”  
“Can I see her?”  
He shook his head. “No.”  
“...why not?”  
“She’s under category three armed quarantine until she can be examined.”  
Meryx sensed she wouldn’t get much further with that subject.  
“Your friend, is he…?”  
“He’s alive. Barely.”  
Iacaton turned towards the door. “Get some sleep, Doctor. You’ll need it.”  
Meryx hesitated, a question burning on the tip of her tongue.  
“Iacaton…”  
He stopped at the door. “Yes, Doctor?”  
“What happened to the book?”  
He paused, looking down at the deck plating.  
“I didn’t find it on your person after we escaped.” He turned to look at her, his eyes suddenly piercingly intense.  
Meryx looked down. “I don’t remember dropping it.”  
Iacaton’s brow furrowed. He tapped on the door. It clunked and swung open.  
“Sleep well, Doctor.”  
He stepped out and the door slammed shut, locking noisily.  
Meryx stared at the ceiling, currents of trepidation, fear, excitement and painkiller-induced haziness all swirling and mixing in her exhausted mind, until a fitful sleep claimed her.


End file.
